


The Afterlife Might Just be Where the Action is

by musiclily88



Series: Wasted Youth// There Wasn't Much to Waste [8]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Past Abuse, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:10:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclily88/pseuds/musiclily88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I hate this,” Louis whispered. “It hurts too much.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Afterlife Might Just be Where the Action is

**Author's Note:**

> A near approximate of “now kiss and make up.”
> 
> A great deal of dialog, my dears. Forgive this stressed graduate student.

Louis always assumed the world was playing a joke on him—he assumed that anyone offering to be his friend was simply playing a prank, that anyone who expressed an interest in him was lying. This informed his every interaction with other people, wholesale. He hated himself enough that he assumed everyone else did too.

It barely hurt anymore when people confirmed it for him.

It barely hurt him when someone used him as a weapon to attack others. It rarely affected him when he realized that someone had fucked him just to get over an ex, or out of revenge, or due to jealousy. It all simply glossed together in the back of his mind, informing his role as pretty fucktoy worth not much of a damn.

When he charted this back with Dr. Carmichael—whom he realized he should confide in given she could probably help him figure out how to be at least a bit less idiotic, not to mention that he was being forced to see her twice a week and pure silence was boring—he came to the banal conclusion that he continually felt abandoned by his caretakers. His father had left, his stepfather was distant, and his mother was busy. Louis was that cliché.

So Louis necessarily extrapolated that to his friendships and his relationships, and it served a purpose. It served to let him _not_ get hurt. He kept himself distant and he acted the way others expected him to. And he told himself it was at least mostly fine.

It was fine, except the anger never went away. He was inured to everything but deep and encompassing frustration, rage, near-madness. He lashed out at the people who _dared_ to pretend to care about him. Because he knew they were lying.

“Many of your recent actions present as, well, self-sabotage,” Dr. Carmichael said during another interminable therapy session.

Louis snorted. “It’s not self-sabotage. It’s self-preservation.”

“Preservation from what?”

“I—right. If I force people to reject me, then it’s really me rejecting them? By making the choice. Making the choice to do whatever it is to push them away.” Louis paused. “Or I do something really idiotic, like so idiotic that someone intervenes and the decision is just made for me. But, like, I chose to do the idiotic thing knowing that would happen.”

“May I have an example?”

Louis snorted. “Harry.”

“Okay, tell me about Harry.”

“He was—we had a thing, right, it was like two schools ago or whatever. A sexual thing, obviously, not like a feelings thing. Except I did like him. He was—well, I did like him. And he terrified me, because he was another one of those _actually good people_ you so rarely meet? He was charming and kind, and he was kind of goofy. Like a kid. Like he never grew up, he had that stupid sense of joy that’s almost infuriating? And I did have feelings for him, which never happens. To me. And for some reason he chose me, because the stupid optimist in him didn’t realize I’m one step up above demonic, if that. He chose to be with me.

And his mother didn’t like me,” Louis continued. “She was my headmistress, did I mention that? And I wasn’t with him just to be a little shit or anything, and I stupidly got attached. And that—that was bad. He terrified me. Shit, thinking about him still terrifies me. So I flipped. I do this thing where I basically stumble around like a drunken baby, knocking everything over with like my big stomping feet.”

He shifted in his seat, sighing. He hated this, hated the whole damn process of searching for a soul he decidedly didn’t have. He hated talking just to talk, because he thought the whole thing was fruitless and needlessly invasive. But he was so sick of sitting in silence that even prodding his emotional wounds was better than _nothing._

After a full fifty seconds of quiet, Dr. Carmichael asked, “What did you do?”

Startled from his reverie, Louis snapped his attention to her. “Oh, I fucked him in his mother’s office when I figured she’d walk even. Which she did. And I got kicked out of yet another school and set fire to yet another questionable relationship, and here we are.”

She clicked her pen and wrote something down. “I note that your tone is—when you discuss particularly evocative experiences, your tone doesn’t seem to match the emotional content of your stories.”

“I—it can’t, I can’t let it affect me. It’ll just make everything worse.”

“Everything being?”

“Everything everything. Have you seriously missed the fact that I hate myself and I want to die?” 

“I understand that.”

“And I’m not really—not looking for you to fix the shattered mess that is my wounded soul.”

“Who are you looking to fix it?”

“No one. That’s—that’s what Liam can’t understand, I need him to stop trying to fix me or magically cure me.” Louis stared resolutely at the nature photograph behind his doctor’s head, refusing eye contact lest she see how spectacularly frustrated he was getting.

“How has he been doing that?”

“By just—by trying to make me something I’m not.”

“What is he trying to make you? That you’re not?”

“Like him, I guess. Normal.”

“He’s trying to make you normal? Like him?”

“Well. He’s—he’s not normal either, I guess, but he’s trying to make me change and feel and be—be different.” Louis shifted in his seat, moving his gaze to the emblem on her framed diploma.

“Different how?”

“Like, like a good person or something.”

“We’ve discussed in the past that you have this image of yourself as an evil person that’s not really in line with reality. You’ve made mistakes, but you’re not bad.”

“But he’s good, isn’t he?”

“You’ve said that, yes.”

“And I can’t be like him.”

“Because he’s never had depression?”

“Because he’s him and I’m me and I’m just going to fuck it up.”

“Fuck what up?”

“This—this thing we’re doing. I already fucked it up by screwing his best friend and he’s still here, for whatever reason. He didn’t even _balk.”_

“Did you want him to?”

“Probably,” Louis said with a glib shrug, his shirt rustling against the fabric of the chair.

“So you slept with his best friend in order to make him leave you.”

“Twice.”

“You slept with the friend twice?”

“The second time was after Liam told me he liked me and wasn’t going anywhere. So. Yeah, I’m a fucking moron.”

“And you did this…to make Liam leave.”

“I thought he would.”

“You thought he would leave?”

“I hoped he would,” he added, realization dawning on him.

“Louis. Why would you hope he’d leave you?”

“He needs better.”

“Better than what?”

“Better than me.”

“What’s so bad about you? I’m trying to understand it, but I can’t. What is so wrong with you?”

“I’m a failure.”

“At what?”

“Being a good person.”

“You’re talking me in circles. What makes you so evil?” she asked, staring him straight in the eyes. He bit his lip. “A word you’ve used in the past, I might point out.”

“Nobody loves me!” he finally snapped, rubbing his sweaty palms on his trouser legs. “Ever! No one ever has, and no one knows how to, and no one will! And I’m a bad person who no one can ever love!”

“That’s the deep-seated issue, then, is it? That you’re unlovable?”

“I am!” He raised his gaze to the ceiling, the tears in his eyes feeling like pinpricks.

“No one’s unlovable, Louis. That’s not ever going to happen, that a person is created who is truly unlovable. You are able to be loved. But you need to let someone in there, you need to let them try for you.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I—I can’t, it won’t. He won’t.”

Their conversation paused while Dr. Carmichael considered him with a slightly pitying expression. “I don’t hear a real, coherent reason forming here. There’s nothing actually holding you back from being with him.”

“Yes there is!” Louis yelled, throwing his hands into the air in frustration.

“Besides fear.”

“That’s _enough.”_

“Is it? Is it enough of an excuse that you’ll let it add to your misery? You have expressed quite keenly that you are indeed miserable. On top of everything else, you’ll let this stagnate you?”

“It’s not—not like I have a choice.”

“You have a choice to let him in, if he’s willing. You can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do, but you can let him care about you if he’s offering. Which it sounds like he is.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit, I don’t think.”

“I’m going to screw it up!”

“It seems like the only way you’d screw it up is by not trying at all.”

“That’s not—no.”

“You told me you slept with his best friend and he forgave you. That’s kind of a big thing and he’s still there.”

“I can’t let myself rely on him. I can’t get used to him being around, because he’ll leave the way everyone else does and I’ll be alone again. But I’ll be alone and not used to being alone and it’ll—I can’t do that again.” Louis tipped his head back as he felt his eyes prick slightly.

“I’m hearing two issues, then. That you don’t know how to be alone and you don’t know how to be with someone you genuinely care for.”

“Yeah, so this middle-ground limbo thing pops up and it’s all I can really handle but I think it’s not—nice to other people.”

“Because?”

“Because it’s not enough. I’m not enough.”

“Has anyone ever accused you of not being enough?” she asked softly.

“I—” Louis gaped openly, searching, clawing at his brain for a response. “No.”

“So the things you tell yourself don’t always line up with reality, at least where this topic is concerned.”

“But if I can’t trust my own head, what can I trust? That’s kind of—that’s literally the most basic thing!”

“It’s not that you can’t trust yourself. It’s that you need to trust yourself _more._ You need to trust that you’re going to make mistakes and it can be okay. To trust that you’re not evil, just flawed.”

“I hate this,” Louis whispered. “It hurts too much.”

“I understand,” Dr. Carmichael said with a nod. “Is it better than not feeling anything at all?”

“Barely,” he responded, voice catching in his throat. “But I guess maybe. A little.”

“Good. That’s good.”

***  
Louis puzzled this out much the way he had puzzled out the fact that he was not even remote attracted to women: alone with sports. He swam laps indoors until his arms went weak, and he dribbled a football in circles around the back garden until his feet began to bleed. He waited for his brain to go quiet as he arched the football into a perfect bend. He waited for his brain to shut down entirely as he shoved himself unceasingly forward through the water.

When his muscles finally gave out, his brain let him sleep through the night for the first time in a week.

 

“Liam!” Louis called three days after his gut-wrenching therapy session, sliding off the bonnet of his car and onto the asphalt of the school carpark.

Liam didn’t turn around, but he slowed his pace slightly, not saying anything.

“Liam Liam Liam,” Louis persisted, speeding up to match him.

“I can hear you, Lou, there’s no need to shout,” Liam murmured, turning around.

“But shouting is what I do best.”

“How many times do I have to tell you there are better uses for your mouth?” He gave Louis a small smile.

“Halt the sarcasm for a moment. I’ve come to apologize.”

Liam pulled his _I am so horribly confused_ face. “Okay,” he said slowly.

“To apologize for not taking you seriously. Actually, I do take you seriously, but I balked. I sabotage every good thing in my life because I know people are going to abandon me and I’d rather they do it on my terms. But. I’m trying to rectify that.”

“In the middle of the carpark?” Liam asked with a grin that made his eyes crinkle at the sides. “Where anyone can see?”

“Hey, to be fair, I’ve never been ashamed of _you._ I was just waiting for you to figure out what a fuck-up I am and inevitably leave me. I like to get the ball rolling on that early. So. Zayn.” Louis shrugged, wincing slightly at his own words.

“Yeah, I’m a little annoyed you’re not apologizing to me the same way you apologized to him, actually,” Liam said, raising his eyebrows. “Sex bruises are much more fun than any other kind, after all. Now come here.” 

He grabbed Louis’ hand and moved toward Louis’ car, heading to sit on top of the boot. Louis stood in front of him, not yet daring to sit down. Instead he stared at Liam’s knees, as he could see them through the split denim the Liam’s jeans.

“I—I’m sorry, about all that. With Zayn.” He shuffled his feet, shifting weight back and forth.

“Yeah. I know. And I mean—we never said we were exclusive, or a thing, or whatever. This never had a label, and that was mostly for my benefit. I get it. I’ve known it for awhile.” Liam settled back and put his palms down behind him, placing weight on his hands. “Was I frustrated and annoyed? Of course I was. But you needed time to adjust and to calm the fuck down, so. I forgive you for fucking my best mate. For a lot of reasons.”

“You do?” Louis’ head snapped up, more out of shock than anything.

“Yeah, plus part of me thinks he needed to get it out of his system.”

“Hey!”

“Oi, you’re not insulted.” Liam rolled is eyes.

“Yeah, guess not.” Louis clambered up to sit on the boot of his car, forcing Liam to shift sideways slightly.

They sat in a fairly comfortable silence for a time, watching other students file past them on their way home in the mid-afternoon light. “So what’s the arrangement, then? Since you’re apologizing and all. You must have a plan.”

“I don’t—I mean. We can negotiate it, right?” Louis swallowed obviously. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Okay, fine, let’s pretend I have experience. So, one,” Liam suggested, “no fucking each other’s best mates.”

“I don’t have a best mate,” Louis pointed out, “hazard of moving around so often. So. Deal. Rule two, I don’t do family dinners or baby-sit younger siblings or, like, leave a trail of rose petals leading to the bedroom. That’s creepy and kinda gay.”

“You’re kinda gay.” Liam gave him a side-eye glance, making Louis smile.

“I know. I don’t want to go around reinforcing stereotypes.”

“Okay, well, don’t call me your partner because we don’t have a joint business venture and we don’t run a law firm.”

Louis shuddered. “Ew. Yeah. No,” he added amidst Liam’s laughter.

“Anything else?”

“You’ve gotta stop bitching when I buy you things. It’s annoying.”

Liam elbowed him. “Then stop buying me things!”

“No way, mate. You look nice in stuff that’s not yanked from the two-pound bin at Primark.”

“Shove off. I look good in anything.”

Louis snorted, elbowing him in return. “You really forgive me?”

Liam nodded. “I’m good at forgiving people.”

“Even if they don’t deserve it, right?” Louis asked, falling onto his back against the metal casing of the boot.

“I didn’t say you didn’t deserve it.”

“But I don’t.” Louis placed a palm onto the small of Liam’s back, pressing his warm palm into the solid flesh he found there.

“Next rule, you need to be at least a little bit _not a dick_ to yourself,” Liam requested, leaning back into Louis’ touch.

“So many demands! You are killing me here.”

“Hey, this started out as your apology,” Liam said, wiggling his arse to Louis’ delight. “So if you’re pulling out, you need to do it now.”

“Pulling out early does dramatically decrease the chances of infection,” Louis mused, flicking his fringe out of his eyes.

“You are disgusting.”

“You love it!” Louis crowed.

“I don’t…loathe it.”

“Good. Have you talked—have you talked to Zayn?”

“I have. What about.” Liam pulled away and turned around to look Louis in the eyes.

“This. This whole thing.” Louis scrubbed a hand across his face roughly. “It—it was his idea, what he and I did.”

“You really ought to be able to talk about sex without stuttering. Especially when you have sex as often as you do.” Liam gave him a private smile, a smile Louis had only seen for _him._

“You know, speaking of that. Considering how moral and puppy-saving fireman-like you are, you are surprisingly shameless.” Louis sat up, appraising Liam in a new light. He was amazed at the ways Liam surprised him.

“Yeah,” Liam agreed, planting a thumb onto Louis’ wrist. “I have a hidden dark side.” He pressed into Louis’ skin.

Louis clenched his jaw. “You’re kind of a sex god. Zayn doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“Shut up.” He rolled his eyes the way he so often did.

“Plus. I bet your stamina’s back up there now that your ribs have knitted back together.”

“Hey!”

“Whereas my stamina has never lagged, even with the broken leg.”

“It was your ankle.”

“Just saying, I am amazing.” Louis shot Liam a dirty grin.

“Is it fun to be that cocky, huh?”

“Yes, actually. It kind of is.” Louis tipped his head to one side with a haughty glare. “And you really need to talk to Zayn. I’d prefer he not try to punch me again.”

“Maybe you should go talk to him, in that case.” Liam shot him a pointed and serious glare, going dark-eyed and nearly dangerous.

Louis conceded. “Ugh, fine. But if he insults my dick again I’m mentioning him by name in my suicide note.”

“Stop making that joke, it’s not funny anymore.”

“It’ll always be funny.”

“You talk too much.”

***

So Louis perched himself near Zayn’s car (his shiny, pretty car, Louis noted sardonically) and waited. He waited to apologize and prostrate himself and everything else it was normal people did when they felt horrible. When they had treated someone else horribly.

He scuffed his feet against he asphalt and lit a cigarette. He liked the way the smoke made his throat burn a bit, grounding him in the here-now-this-yes. He liked the energy they gave him, the fizz they put in his veins. They helped him open his eyes a bit wider.

“What do you want now, fuckstick,” Louis heard before he saw Zayn approach from the left.

“Oh you know. Just hanging around to apologize yet again for the miserable things I do to other people.”

“What did you do this time then?” Zayn sidled up next to Louis, nodding his head toward the car, which he unlocked via remote. They got into the vehicle and Zayn pinched the bridge of his nose as he sat down.

“I fucked you. Again. I shouldn’t have done. Again. Because I’m—seeing your best friend. Now. And I think you were upset or maybe jealous or maybe trying to figure out a sexual crisis? Or maybe just trying to be mean. But I think I shouldn’t have done it and so I’m sorry. For getting you involved. Rather than just apologizing and walking away.”

“Why are you with him?”

“Because he likes me.”

“No, that’s why he’s with you. Why are you with him?”

“I—” Louis bit his lip while shaking his head roughly. “I like him. Is that so hard for you to see? I’m—I don’t want to die when I’m with him, and I want to die nearly all the time.” Louis saw Zayn open his mouth but cut him off. “And before you say anything, no. Shut the fuck up. I’m not making him fix me. He’s just a reminder of all the reasons it might be okay to stay alive.”

“Oh,” Zayn breathed. He fiddled with a spot on his arm, pressing into a healed cigarette burn with his fingertip.

“I’m in therapy. All the time. And I take my meds, all the time. And I’m not saying it’s working, but I’m trying, all right. So shove off.”

“I just don’t—” Zayn clenched his jaw and dropped his head onto the steering wheel with a sigh. “Never mind.”

“I know, okay. I know he deserves better than me, but he wants me anyway. And who am I to deny him that? When he’s stuck around so long and he’s been through so much? And he should get what he wants, he should be happy. At least for now.”

Zayn cleared his throat, producing a sick, rattling sound into the car. “And can you help him? Make him happy?”

“Shit, mate. I can’t guarantee I can take care of him, but you know I’m going to try. You may hate me beyond belief but you have to know I’ll do what I can to be at least mostly good to him. Even if I have no idea what that means.”

“You will?”

“Yeah, because he’ll tell me.”

“Tell you?”

“He’ll tell me what to do. He knows better than you or me.”

Zayn snorted. “Not likely. He let his father kick him to death for twelve years. He doesn’t know what’s good for himself.”

“I appreciate your confidence.”

“Fuck off.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and lit it swiftly, not offering one to Louis. He threw the pack onto the dashboard.

“No way. Not until you admit you’re in love with him, yeah?”

“Right, sure. And right after that I’ll just hop into bed with you again because I so obviously hate myself.” He smirked around the filter of his cigarette.

“Cute. Speaking of which, I’m way better in the sack than you pretended I was. Rude.”

“Fuck off.”

“No way. I so clearly need and value your opinion, I desperately need it to validate my existence!” Louis grappled pointlessly at Zayn’s arm, but Zayn batted him away.

“Get out.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“No. Not anymore.”

Louis considered this, darting forward to retrieve the cigarette packet from the dashboard. “Are you attracted to him?”

“Course. Who isn’t?” Zayn exhaled, smoke curling above his head,

“Is that what it is then? Forcing your sexual crisis into me? Literally?”

“It’s nothing. You were there and—yeah. Nothing. I was just trying to see why you’re so much better than me. I wasn’t trying to seek revenge on him or anything. I just wanted to see what about you is so much better than me. Turns out it’s not much.” Zayn raised a critical brow at him.

Louis snagged Zayn’s lighter and lit the cigarette. “Wounding.”

“Doubtful.”

“I’m trying to be nice, you know. And if you do love him, he needs to know that you’re a viable and willing option.” Louis rolled down the passenger-side window and exhaled into the fading afternoon light.

“I’m not willing.”

“What?”

“Not. I’m not. So, all yours. Go for it. Shoot for the stars.” Zayn tipped his head back and exhaled, his smoke rising straight to the ceiling.

“You’re an idiot.”

“No, I’m not.” He shut his eyes, head still tipped back. “I tried so many times to make him like me, or even look at me the way he looks at you, all right? And I’m not stupid, I see how most people around here view me. My ex was particularly fond of talking about my cheekbones, all right? But it didn’t matter because it wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted him. And he wasn’t having it. And that, I dealt with that, okay. So, no, I’m not in love with him. But maybe you are.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“No, mate. More power to you. Have at it. I—I’m glad, like. Because it means he’ll maybe stop looking at me with nothing but pity.”

“You hate me,” Louis insisted.

“Of course I do.” Zayn righted his head and opened his eyes. “I’m entitled, as the best mate, to think you’re horrible for treating him the way you did.”

“Fuck off, _you_ cheated on your girlfriend with me just to make a point.” Louis ashed his cigarette out the open window, refusing to look at Zayn.

“First of all, she’s not my girlfriend anymore. Second of all, it wasn’t to make a point. Not to make a point to _him,_ anyway. The second time wasn’t either. I was just trying to have a bit of fun, all right? And you’re good for it.”

“I know,” Louis retorted smugly.

“Shut up.”

“Figured out your sexual crisis?” Louis asked, stubbing out his cigarette and didn’t bother feeling offended on his own behalf. “I’m actually curious, note.”

Zayn huffed out a sigh. “Rounding up to bisexual. Congratulations.”

“How much do you hate me?”

“All the way.”

“Good. Mutual.”

***

And still nothing was perfect. The malaise did not lift simply because Louis finally had a beautiful boy on his arm, and the fog did not shift simply because he had someone to kiss. He knew life was not simple, or easy. He knew he wasn’t easy. He knew he was hardened, at least compared to most people. He was hard and he was hard to deal with. He was a dick and a bastard, and some part of his heart prided himself on it.

He could not be healed with a kind word and a quick kiss. No one could. But he thought maybe it couldn’t make things worse. He supposed it couldn’t hurt. For now.

The malicious fog was thick, of course it was, but it thinned out a bit when he saw Liam. It allowed a little sunlight to get through, just enough to glint off his jawbone and deep brown eyes. Just enough to make Louis smirk and salivate.

He had no true explanation for that, though he chocked it up to sexual attraction and teenage idiocy. He knew he was, above all, foolishly sexual. But a part of him hoped that he was on some level redeemable, though he doubted he was. All he could do was wait for Liam to realize it too.

**Author's Note:**

> But wait, there’s more!  
> (No really, I’m not done yet, not at allllllll)
> 
> Comments and crit appreciated! xx
> 
> ps, if you'd like to locate me, I'm at musiclily.tumblr.com
> 
> send hate or adoration or annoyance, mates, I dig it


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